


Simon Snow is a Lucky Bag of Blood

by cynosure_phrases



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Established Relationship, Knifeplay, M/M, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Vampire Sex, and simon's just horny, baz has a little panic over being a vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 07:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20131699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynosure_phrases/pseuds/cynosure_phrases
Summary: “What’s the worst that could happen?” he whispers.“I could lose control.”He smiles at me, thumbs swiping across my skin as my eyes flutter shut. “I trust you not to.”-Simon wants there to be blood in their bed. Baz doesn't want to hurt him. Somewhere in the middle, there has to be compromise.





	Simon Snow is a Lucky Bag of Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SHARKMARTINI](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHARKMARTINI/gifts).

> a couple warning i couldn't quite properly tag: there's a knife used for small nicks of skin so minor wounds are mentioned in detail, and there's, ofc, mentions of blood. if you need anything else tagged and mentioned, please let me know!  
this is for winnie under her tumblr ask "I am a simple woman. I see trope prompts, I demand blood play. Please. I do it on main too, I'm no coward." i've spent weeks on this. i.... yeah. i have nothing to say for myself. i've never really done a PWP because i'm a slut for plot specifically, so aye lmao

“Is our sex life boring you  _ that _ much?”

Snow’s head snaps up from his mobile, his thumb freezing mid-swipe. “What? No. Fuck, no, of course not,” he quickly defends. As if he isn’t the one who just suggested that we should try bondage, or spanking. I know what he’s looking at, too, because he’s not-so subtle (especially when it’s what the conversation is about it). It’s some sex shop online with the cuffs and everything.

“Then what’s with the sudden fascination into kink culture?” I grab the remote, hitting mute as he blinks, jaw open. “Close your mouth, Snow. You’re letting all your leftover brain cells out through your breath.”

His jaw snaps shut as he clicks off his phone, settling it onto the pillow beside him. “I’m just curious, that’s all.”

He’s got that look--the strange one when you can just tell the few ideas that flit through his brain are actually moving. Something in it tells me he already has something to focus on. 

“Why don’t you just tell me what you want rather than hint at things?”

The telly’s colors flicker between scenes, washing Snow in blues then abrupt reds and yellows, making the shadows behind his wings dance. “I…” he starts, picking at the couch. “You can’t laugh, alright? Or freak out?”

I nod slowly, shifting to face him properly. “I won’t.”

He nods back, exhaling. “Alright.” He scans my face, mouth falling back open despite the lack of words coming out. After a minute, he just reaches out and grabs my hand. “I’ve been thinking about something, and I suppose trying other stuff is my way to ease us into it.”

“Ease us into what?”

His lips twitch, brows pulling together. “I said you can’t laugh, or get mad,” he mumbles.

“I know. I said I wouldn’t.”

He nods, exhaling before looking at our hands. “I wanna try some weird vampire shit,” he says quietly.

It takes a second to process.  _ “Weird vampire shit” _ is such a broad spectrum that makes me panic at the first possible thought. “You want me to turn you?” I say quickly, sounding a lot more terrifyingly accusatory than I’d have thought, making him bolt upright in return.

“What? No! I mean, not really. Not  _ now _ …” He must read the horrified look on my face and figure I’m inches away from losing it at him, because he shakes his head and keeps going. “Shit. I just this sounds  _ beyond _ mad… I-I know…”

“Spit it out, Snow,” I snarl. He’s starting to scare me.

He shakes his head, growing more aggravated with every second (and not in the sexy way). “No getting mad!” he snaps back, wigs fluttering a bit as I suck in a breath, trying to level myself out. He eyes me up, face pulled into a tight frown as I exhale.

We stare at each other, studying one another in a low, calming wave as we settle back.

His lets go of my left hand, sliding his up into my hair and stroking it backwards. “I’ve been thinking about last week, that’s all.”

Crowley, I thought we were going to ignore last week. “I wasn’t thinking,” I huff. “And it wasn’t intended to be a repeat incident.”

“But you liked it too!” he urges, stroking through my hair again and making me involuntarily sigh. I try to break the moment by staring daggers into him, but he brushes it off. “Don’t act like--I  _ know _ you liked it.”

“Of course I liked it, I’m a vampire.” I tear my eyes away, trying to face anything but him. “That’s like putting a roast beef sandwich in front of you and asking if you want to eat it.”

“I love roast beef,” he whispers under his breath.

“Exactly,” my voice drops further. “But we shouldn’t do that regularly--especially not in the bedroom.”

He bites his lip, tipping my head towards him as he leans forward and brushes his lips onto my cheek. “What if I promise to stop you if it gets too much?”

“Are you mad? Stop a vampire from feeding?”

He pauses against me, breath on my cheek before he moves to my ear. “We’ll make a deal then.”

My eyes fall shut, thumb rubbing against the pad of his.

It was the same one that had gotten nicked. Quick knife cut. He wasn’t paying attention, and suddenly, there was a trickle of blood down the side of it.

It wasn’t a lot. Actually, it was barely anything. But he joked and told me to suck on it as he looked to find a bandaid. I tried to tease back by licking him, but he did that little shutter he does when… 

Merlin, we shouldn’t do this.

“What if we just take a blade and do it that way?” he murmurs, making my heart race harder. “No puncture holes--no immediate way to drain me. Just lick it up.”

He feels me squirm as his mouth drops, kissing at my jaw while smirking like some devil--as if he’s already got me.

(Which might as well be true.) 

“Fuck,” I exhale, sliding a hand up to his neck and twirling my index around his curls of his nape.

He hums, moving down my neck. “Well?” he whispers.

He should just bend me over on the couch now and get it done with, but I know that’s not what the end-goal he wants.

“It’s not sanitary,” I breathe, feeling him worry at a spot above my clavicle as I gasp lightly, pulling him closer. “What if my saliva turns you?”

“Wouldn’t I be turned already, then?”

I squeeze my eyes shut.  _ Shit. Doesn’t work. _ “I don’t want to hurt you,” I whisper. “I don’t know if I could ever forgive myself if--”

He shuts me up with a kiss, pushing me backwards a bit as my hands fly into his hair, nudging him closer.

He sighs into my mouth, letting me tug on him to keep going--snog instead of saying shit that Crowley knows is terrible just because he thinks it’ll be  _ fun _ .

It doesn’t last, though. He pulls back, pressing a kiss to my cheek as his hand rubs over my chest. “I promise it won’t be bad,” he croons. “I used to get knocked around so often that a little cat-scratch here and or there will be nothing.”

“But what if I want more?” I  _ will _ want more. I always want more.

He smirks a bit. “We should get a you gag, then?”

I snort, trying to pull an angry frown, but it doesn’t read well. I know it doesn’t. He’s got me. “What? Make me bite another pillow open?”

“That was your call,” he chuckles, sweetly kissing the spot between my brows. “After all, it was your idea to shag at your parents house.”

I feel the slight burn of a flushed face, but it doesn’t show, given I haven’t fed last night (which is probably why this is a bit of a shitshow).

He pulls back, stroking my cheeks as I try to give him a pout.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” he whispers.

“I could lose control.”

He smiles at me, thumbs swiping across my skin as my eyes flutter shut. “I trust you not to.”

Good to know he does, but it doesn’t quite change the fact that I can’t trust myself. In no way can I promise him that I won’t attack--that my eyes won’t glaze and then suddenly I wake back up to my fangs in his neck and his body lying limp against mine.

I swallow, nudging him off of me. “I should feed first,” I utter, pushing him further away. I watch him slide back into his seat, sitting upright and following my movements carefully.

“Alright,” he says quietly. “Then what?”

I grab my shoes, yanking them open and retying them. “Then… we’ll see.”

He gives me such a gorgeously broad grin before popping up and stretching out. “Lovely. I’ll be in the bedroom, then.” His tail brushes against my leg as he walks past, humming an awfully proud tune before the door shuts behind him.

I shiver, biting down on my lip and practically launching myself out the door while holding my coat in hand.

It isn’t always the cleanest hunt in the middle of London, but given there’s a loophole here, it makes London really the reasonable hotbed for the modern vampire.

And thank Crowley this loophole stays open until 10.

The shop is nearly empty, aisles lined with signs in languages I can’t quite read, but it doesn’t matter anyway. All that matters is the containers of pigs blood in the back, stacked up nice and neat, ready for purchase.

Funny thing is, nobody ever quite questions me. I’ll buy six containers at once, alongside some shrimp crackers for Snow, and the cashier is always some bored older woman who scans them through. Not a word.

Funny.

It’s a bit of a distance from the flat, but a worthwhile walk. Much easier than having to chase around alleyway rats, that’s for sure (probably a bit healthier, too). Plus, it’s a tad more effective, although the plastic tupperware it comes in does make me feel a bit guilty, in the end.

Still. Worth it.

Especially since the walk gives me time to think--time to strategize.

Time to wonder how the fuck to do this without going mad, because he’s right. I want to taste his blood again. Crowley, I’ve always wanted to lick the dribbling cuts from his cheeks after a fistfight. I want to scrape my teeth down his back, then lick the parallel lines of oozing blood before turning him over and sucking him into oblivion.

And sometimes, just the action of sucking him off alone is too much. The pulse of his cock in my mouth drives me insane, making my fangs pop out before he gets to finish.

Those are usually the nights that we decide to jack off separately, just in case.

My keys scrape against his flat’s door, unneededly holding my breath as I push in.

We never talk about why we do certain things “just in case”. We acknowledge it--we understand it. We just don’t talk about it.

At least, I’d always imagined he’d understood it, but now he just wants to push through that threshold, and I don’t know if he’s quite ready for the consequences.

I hear the shower running down the hall, as well as his music rattling through the halls (he’s got the music taste of a father in his mid-40s) as I’m making my way through the kitchen. I shuck my jacket, slipping off my shoes as the bag rustles in my hand.

I pull out the saucepan before anything else, exhaling and pouring two containers in (to be safe). 

After putting back the extras and laying out the crackers for Snow to see in the morning, I turn to the pan and keep it stirring at a low enough temperature. It doesn’t take long before it’s nice and thinned--enough to pour into my bigger mug.

I’m scrubbing the pan, the steaming cup beside me as I hear the squeak of the faucet and the cutting of the water. The showhead drips, a few heavy drops hitting the ground as the sound of Snow’s stomps and rustling fills the otherwise quiet flat.

I try to swallow back my worry, but it keeps stuck. I’m choking on it. Gagged in fear.

Before I know it, I’m leaned down over the sink, arms keeping myself stable as Snow pads in.

I hear his sigh, then feel a hand press and smooth over my back. “You okay?”

I hesitate, contemplating my answers before going for my mug and sipping. (He should probably let go of me now.) Regardless as to what I want to say, I nod anyway, forcing another mouthful as my fangs make an awkward clank against the porcelain.

He stays, despite any better judgement he may or may not have, leaned up against the countertop with his wings extended out behind him.

I do my best not to look at him. It somehow makes feeding harder (not just tonight, though--it’s every night).

We’re silent as I sip, his arms crossed and face the typical softness as I take back long gulps, rinsing the mug properly once I’m done. “There?” I mumble around my fangs, tongue running over one. “Happy?”

“Over the bloody mood,” he says softly, wrinkling his nose as he leans back.

We’re stand in a silent pause, glancing over at one another before his arms drop. “So,” he starts. I feel it building. My thrum of panic. “Have you decided if you want to yet?”

My heart picks up, lips pursing as a blush spreads over my cheeks. This time, it’s visible. “What if I--”

“Shh.” His hand reaches for mine. I let him have it. “Shh. You won’t hurt me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re right.” He shrugs. “We don’t know. But we don’t know that you will, either. And I trust you to not to.”

Dammit.

“Well, how do you propose we go about this, then? Any game plan?”

His cheeks stretch out in a grin as he perks up. “Thought you’d never ask.” He hums, reaching for the freezer and peering inside. He takes out the pocketknife Bunce got him last Christmas. I raise my brow, but he already seems on to it.

“It feels better cold, apparently,” he hums, smiling. “And the website said we’ll want a blindfold.”

“What website?”

He shrugs. “I googled it.” His hand tugs mine. “C’mon. I trust you. I trust  _ this _ .”

I swallow, nodding hesitantly as he starts leading me back. “You’re going to have to walk me through this. All of it.”

He chuckles, letting it echo through the hall as we’re nudged into his bedroom. “Fine.” He plops down onto the bed, flattening himself back. “Have anything else in mind you want to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he smirks. “Dunno. Ride me? Stroke each other off? I suck your--”

“I get the idea. Thank you.” I start unbuttoning my shirt, standing near the doorway as he tosses aside his towel. He tries to give me a reassuring, but I just feel myself get more and more nervous as the moment draws on.

I’m sure I’m blushing again now-- and madly at that. Bright red, looking like a beet.

I look at my trembling hands, and my knuckles already look more human.

Snow sits up, making my heart leap into my throat and stammer out half an “I-I’m okay.”

“You don’t look it, love.”

It isn’t until I crawl onto his lap, clothes neatly folded on his dresser and sanity most likely out the door that I answer.

“I believe I have all the claim to being nervous here, don’t you think?”

He seems to be thinking over it before nodding and exhaling. “Here,” he starts, offering over the knife to me. “Hold it, at least. See how you feel.”

I take it, holding it as carefully as possible. Might as well be our firstborn.

He smiles up at me, at first, them blinks and gently smacks my hip. “Hold on. Shit. Forgot the mask.”

I flush harder, groaning as my eyes squeeze shut. “Please tell me you aren’t--” Crowley. He is.

He grabs out the sleeping mask I’d bought last year. Gag valentine’s gift. Says “Dreaming Of You”, since he’d complained that I stay up too late to read.

I sigh loudly, watching him grin ridiculously proudly as he slides it on. “There we go.”

“You make it as hard as possible for this to be even remotely sexy,” I groan. The cheetah print of the mask doesn’t make it better.

“Well, unless you want me to use one of your nice ties…”

“Merlin, no!” I bark, bolting upright as he practically cackles, calming down only as I settle back.

“Yeah. thought so. Now, should we--”

“Probably...”

“You’re stalling.”

“I’m well aware.”

“You can say no, Baz.”

I nearly drop the knife, biting onto my lip as I sigh. I’m scared. I’m fucking terrified.

But both he and I want this so bad, and yet I still can’t stop myself from shaking in fear that maybe, just maybe, I won’t be able to stop myself.

But he seems sure. And loving. And ready for any answer I want to give him.

So I give him the one he wants back.

“No, I want to,” I murmur, taking a deep breath, exhaling slowly, then leaning down to kiss him.

He freezes a bit under my lips, melting back at the nudge of my mouth. His hands start moving, sliding up my chest and down to my waist, one wrapping around towards my back as the other makes its way to my thigh. I indignantly knock my knees apart further as I hover above him, giving him full access to anywhere on me that he pleases.

He settles with rubbing my inner thigh, other fingertips teasing down my spin in unison as I groan against him.

Merlin. He drives me mad.

I feel his tail snake around my ankle, grounding me down as I pull back in a soft pant.

His lips are open, cheeks a welcoming pink, and as I drag my eyes over him with my own mouth open in a softly pant, his hands continue to tease. As much as I desperately don’t want him to stop, I sit myself up anyway to gather my thoughts.

“This okay?” he murmurs.

“Yes. Yeah,” I whisper back, picking back up the blade.

It’s weighted at the handle, and has a near-rainbow chrome body. At least he keeps it sanitary, that much I know.

I suck in a breath. “Where do you want me to--”

“My chest.” he whispers. “Nobody will see them there, if there’s lasting marks.”

I nod along, inhaling slowly before settling the blade onto his skin and testing, without any weight, to see how it feels to drag it over top.

Nothing more than a thin scratch mark appears, making Snow shiver below me.

“Shit,” he mumbles.

“What? What’s wro--”

“Cold.” His laugh is pillowy soft. “It’s just cold, my love.”

I practically melt at that.

“Do you want me to--”

“Whenever you’re ready,” he whispers. “Just, put the blade to my skin, and press a little while dragging. Isn’t hard--it’s well sharpened.”

“What if I--”

“Don’t,” he reassures, hands wrapping firmly around my waist. “I’m ready. I trust you.”

I bite my lip, eyes falling shut. “We should have a safeword.”

“Scone.”

Fuck Snow. 

Honestly, and in all seriousness, fuck Snow, because if there’s one person to actually make me break out into an ugly snort mid-emotional crisis kinky pre-shag, it’s him.

And thank Crowley, it’s him, because he’s laughing back with me, letting me hold myself above him as I try desperately to keep composure, but his deep chuckle pulls me right back in. “Fucking hell,” I manage.

“Well, it works!”

“Shut up.”

“Make me, you prick.”

I smirk, and steal a quick kiss from his lips, feeling his head drag up as I try to let myself back.

I pull myself away despite, still grinning madly as I relax and slowly, yet surely, settle the knife back down onto his skin.

He gasps, lips pulled out into a open-mouthed smile that should be downright illegal. “Fuck, baby. Go for it.”

The blade drags slowly, pulling down and leaving a trail of thin red droplets skipping along a line of etched skin. Without hesitation, I lean down and lick up it, feeling him shutter below me.

A hand runs up, gripping the back of my head as I lap the very little blood that’d been drawn to the surface and leaving me to crave for more-- _ whining _ for more.

“ _ Simon… _ ”

He hushes me again, smoothing down my back with his free hand. “You’re doing fine, love,” he whispers, knowing full well that the cheek I’ve got the front of my fangs pressed up against his chest. I can smell his heart, I can feel the beat of it, rattling under my own skin.  _ Merlin, he’s mad, too _ . “You can do another.”

This time, I don’t go through the bitching, lifting myself up just enough to dizzily settle the knife down, making two new fresh lines, the first one slightly heavier than the second. I suck in a shaky breath and force myself to go light with the third (which ultimately draws next to nothing).

I rush towards his skin anyway, tasting the sweet draw of the iron-richness in his blood. Fresh. Warm. Still pulsing below me, enough to keep me pressed just a little bit more after another hopeful dragging lick.

He groans, nails digging into my scalp before he pulls at my hair, hips arching.

I can’t help myself from laughing again, a harsh chuckle while my open hand drops down and roughly gives him a quick wank.

He grunts again, jaw slack. “Fuck, Baz--” he whines, “-- _ more _ .”

I close my eyes briefly, working over my thoughts over and over before forcing myself back and blinking away the inevitable rush to my head. In efforts the quelch the spinning of the room and the electricity through my skin and nerves, I try to focus on my insides. How full I feel. Tell myself it’s all well met. That I’m satisfied.

That Snow’s just my dessert (and definitely a decadent one at that). But, Merlin, fuck my sweettooth, because it’s always got me so greedy.

“I want more,” I whine, pulling my hand off him as his hips grind at the lost friction. I feel his chest flutter, lips pulling in a straight line in protest for my momentary leave.

Leaning back, I fumble around with the nightstand and grab out the lube, cracking it open. I pour it into my palm, meeting his cock again as he gracelessly ruts.

He gives me a beautiful, satisfactory grunt as I stroke down, wings flat and shoulders pushing sharply into the bed as he rocks himself upwards.

I smirk and sit onto his thighs, mouth falling open. “What can I have?” I whine, shifting forward enough to wrap my hand around both of our pricks.

He lets out an indignant moan, panting at the joined friction as he reaches for my had and takes over the work. “Have it all.”

_ Crowley, I fucking wish I could _ .

I stop myself, though, eyeing up the blade as his hand tightens around us. I barely manage past a whine before I push myself down into his chest, nose crushing onto his peck.

Before I can move to get my face away, his unoccupied hand twirls into my hair and shoves my face forward, skidding my fangs over his softened skin. I don’t even think to pull away, greedily licking and sucking at his fresh wounds.

His hand presses me further, letting me lap at his skin and try to pry the small slits of flesh open, hoping to draw fresh blood. Waiting for the warmth spilling into my mouth and staining my lips.

And fuck, is it delicious.  _ He’s _ delicious.

I move to sloppily kiss then scrape some fresh lines on the other side of his chest, teasing his first nipple while accidentally scraping along the sensitive patch with my fang.

Which, to my surprise, draws a louder than anticipated moan on his part.

“Fuck!” He whimpers. “Shit--Baz! Again!”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice.

I lick and suck slowly before dragging my fangs down his skin, drawing slightly thicker and heavier lines of bared flesh as Snow pants below me, helplessly bucking his hips.

I stop to lick the slow trickles of his blood, knife pushed far from us before I reach down and roll his bollocks, sucking harder onto his nipple. His hips rut, thrusting into his squeezing hand before he comes, grunting out something vaguely sounds like “Baz” while spilling onto my knuckles and his stomach.

I barely have time to clean him up before he’s ripping off his stupid, bloody blindfold and flipping me over.

I gasp, eyes wide and wandering as his hands grab mine and pin them on the pillows above me, face wild something new. Something mad.

Something I’d only ever the first time I’d went to taste his blood.

“You beautiful fucking thing,” he growls, knocking apart my legs as I gawk.  _ Fucking hell, he’s going to destroy me. _

_ And I want to be fucking wrecked. _

I whimper, leaning up into him and desperately craving his touch, but he all but pulls back entirely, keeping my hands pinned up while he kneels between my knees. “What do you want, darling? What do you want me to do?”

I groan, eyes falling shut as I try to search for words, to no avail.

“You’re not getting anything unless you tell,” he purrs, pressing my wrists further into the bed and leaving me to writhe, achingly hard.

“I want-- _ fuck _ \-- _ I want you _ ,” I whine, lip pulling up as my fangs busy my words. “In me, on me, I don’t care--just fucking do it.”

At first, I think he might leave me here (which does things to me that I hadn’t even imagined), but then his hands leave mine, eyes raking over my body and, in a blink, he’s leaning down and swallowing down my cock.

And, Crowley, never have I had to hold myself back from bursting at the seams until now.

Despite Snow never being the most graceful head, he’s still bloody well got the gold star for enthusiasm.

It leaves me helpless, sitting back for the ride and clinging to his curls while holding on for a few good, well earned, heavenly seconds of his mouth around my cock.

I tug his hair as he bobs further down then lifts back, sucking at my crown while letting his hand do the rest.

With a tug of his hair and a long drawn out, desperate whine, I spill into his mouth. It fills his cheeks, his eyes batting at me as I’m coming down before he sits up and finds a tissue to spit it while I slump back. Nothing comes to me except for the dizzy, wrought-out feeling creeping onto me as his blood still lingers on my tongue and leaves me wishing for more while keeping at a low, murmuring urge (practically how it always is).

He comes back to me cleaned off and smelling of mouthwash, chest looking a little scratched up but with no serious bleeding as he grins, offering me a wet towel.

I take it, wiping my mouth and hand.

“Christ,” he mumbles, grinning all loony as I glance up. His cheeks are stuck out in a smile, wings hunched over us in a lazy drape. “Just… bloody  _ fucking _ Christ.”

I carefully work the rag between my fingers, feeling my cheeks stretch further into a grin while listening to him swear like some Normal. “Didn’t hurt you too bad, did I?”

He shakes his head quickly, eyebrows narrowing. “Not at all.” I watch as his head turns, facing the bedsheets below him as he picks at loose threads. “I actually wanna do it again. And again. Fuck--I just want you to have at me. Every part of me. Whenever you like.”

I chuckle, flicking the towel at him as he startles, blushing and faking a shocked anger (his smile always gives him away). “Maybe not  _ every _ part of you,” I hum. “But I think we can try this again soon.”

  
  



End file.
